Leap Of Faith
by LosGatos
Summary: Sherlock has just jumped, but he isn't really dead yet. He breaks out, and finds that he may have gone slightly mental. And there's a bin that can sing Bob Marley. Honest.
1. Chapter 1: Acting Dead

Well, here goes nothing!

You know, I'm beginning to wonder if maybe this whole jumping business was a good idea or not. Oh well, too late, I've almost hit the-

.

That hurt, for god's sake. And now there's blood all over the pavement, see, someone's going to have to clean that up now. For shame. I'm getting really dizzy now, why can't I feel my arm? Oh, God, Here comes John. Look dead, look dead. Try not to laugh at how much he's crying, you can laugh later. You know, I probably should have seen this coming. I should have come up with a better plan than "Just jump and hope for the best." I mean, really, I've probably been brain damaged and-

No. you don't think about that. Out of all the possibilities, that is not something that is going to happen. Not to me. If become brain damaged, I might be as stupid as Mycroft. If that happens, the whole of space-time will collapse. Sherlock Holmes must not be a mental. I think it's one of the 10 commandments.

Speaking of Mycroft, I can't wait to see his face when he hears the news. Heh heh heh heh heh. He's going to be like "What," And I'm going to go "Wham! Resurrection." I swear to god, no one is ever going to see it coming. Except maybe Moriarty. Yes, we're both in on this little game, I think. He probably thinks I didn't see the pellet gun and the fake blood. What a stupid trick, a child wouldn't fall for it. Oh, here comes the stretcher. Careful with that elbow, I need it to play the violin. Honestly, you people have no respect for real talent. Into the mortuary we go now, and if you drop me, I will stand up and do the Thriller dance. Yes, I know the zombie walk, what's your point? Now to plan my escape. Bollocks, I don't have the fake corpse. I'm under the sheet now, I hope they don't notice a phone. I have to text an irregular.

"Bring me corpse, Hospital, quickly lol. SH"

He should be here soon. Around the back. I can hear footsteps now, and a door. Ah, those doctors must have left the room. Time to get up, holding my breath is killing me. Round the back door we go, and here's the corpse. Good man. I'm just going to slip it under, bit of fake blood (I always carry some) and… perfect. DNA and everything. No one will ever notice. Now, for the next part of my plan. It's not exactly dignified, I must admit, but it does have that Great Escape notion about it. Into the wheelie bin it is. Hang on… The bins won't be collected for two days… I'm going to have a bit of a wait. Lucky no one ever uses this one. Plus, I hear a singsong can make a wait seem shorter! My day just keeps getting better.

I hope people don't find anything unusual about a bin that can sing Bob Marley.


	2. Chapter 2: Bedknobs and Binmen

Buffalo soldier, c- whoa!

Two days passed pretty quickly! Lucky me, I was getting tired of Bob. Oh god, they're lifting the bins up now. Ouch. That hurt. That generally seems to be happening a lot lately, me getting hurt. Oh well, I was daft enough to jump off the roof of a hospital, so I guess I get what I deserve in a way. Oh, Christ, I wasn't looking forward to this bit. The lid has opened! I see daylight! Oh, it's over. And I'm lying flat on my face in a pile of discarded banana skins. I'm going to vomit. No, wait, I mustn't vomit, that would only make the problem worse. I'm guessing this is headed to the waste facility outside of town, and all I've got is this bloody newspaper. Oh yeah, someone did come along and use this bin. But I couldn't read the newspaper in the dark, for god's sake. I might as well try it now.

Really? He was shagging that prostitute all along? Poor prime minister. But what's the headline? It's my funeral. Scheduled for today. In a couple of hours, as a matter of fact. Nice, I'll finally be able to watch my own funeral. Huh, I guess Mummy was right all along. Wait, what does this shit say? Brother expresses grief? Bollocks, I texted him from that bin. Thought if I ever needed a favour, he was the one to turn to. I might ask for an airstrike, I've always thought Slough was a hole. Anyway, He seemed to know about my little switch-up. "Don't worry," He said. "I made your fake better for you." Arsehole, what does he know about acting dead? Aside from actually being brain-dead, that is. This truck had better hurry up. I'm not going to miss my own funeral. If I do, then all of this reggae music and playing Angry Birds on my phone will have been for nothing.

I'm going to call Mycroft and sing God Save the Queen again. That gets on his nerve. It's only when he threatens to reveal my status of being alive to the entire world that I shut up. He goes on about "being juvenile" which is really boring, so I tell him to piss off back to Buckingham Palace. Then he says he knows I'm in the back of a rubbish truck. It must be true what they say, the British Government really do know a load of crap. I pat myself on the back for that one, I'm getting better at this joking thing. I think.

Oh, hang on, we have arrived. Now if you'll excuse me, Herr Binman, I have to watch my own funeral.


End file.
